Chicken Soup
by The-Lady-Isis
Summary: Based off a discussion we had at batmanwonderwoman . com on how Diana and Damien would get on if Bruce and Diana were in a relationship. Damien's sick, and Diana comes to offer the global panacea for illness—chicken soup.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

**A/N: This is a one-shot based off a discussion we had at regarding how Diana and Damien would get on if Bruce and Diana were in a relationship. Enjoy. **

**Chicken Soup**

_Mmmmm, that smells good…_

Almost floating on the delicious scent that was wafting into the room, Diana stirred, opening her eyes to the warm dimness of the master bedroom. The curtains were open, but it was dark outside; to the east the sky was light a sickly orange glow, but westward lay the diamond pinpricks of stars. She looked at the time—only eight thirty, but the space beside her was empty.

She sat up, the covers falling from her naked form. The sound of the shower being turned on in the adjoining bathroom caught her attention, and she looked toward the open door, smiling. Curls of steam began to wave at her invitingly. Ordinarily she'd happily go into the bathroom and join her lover in his pre-patrol shower, but for now her stomach ruled. She _had _to find out what that smell was.

She stuck her head around the door, meaning to tell him goodbye and to tell him to take care, but the words stuck in her throat. Hera, he was beautiful. His black hair was slicked back by the shower, and the hot water sluiced down his body in a _most _enticing way. Despite what they'd spent the majority of the afternoon doing…the majority of most of the afternoons doing since their relationship began…her body urged her to join him and begin all over again.

Unfortunately, it was into the moment when she couldn't breathe—or think, or blink or speak—that Bruce opened his eyes and noticed her hungry stare. "Something I can help you with, Princess?" he smirked.

She cleared her throat, finding her voice again. "I'm downstairs if you want me."

"Alright. I'm going once I've showered."

She nodded. "Be careful."

As she turned toward the door, his voice arrested her again. "Diana."

She turned back to him.

"I love you."

A warm glow spread throughout her chest at both his words and the look in his eyes. He'd told her that every time he left anywhere—she still didn't know exactly what had happened to him, just what he'd told her. That she'd been what anchored him in an endless river of time, even when he hadn't remembered her eyes, or her voice. After the personal revelations she herself had experienced, Diana knew her feelings mirrored his. There was only blot on their mutual happiness at the moment, and she was confident it would be overcome…eventually.

"I love you too."

She dressed quickly and headed downstairs, still floating on that tantalising smell. She entered the kitchen to find Alfred at the stove, stirring something in a large silver pot.

"Good evening, Alfred."

"Good evening, Your Highness. I trust you are well-rested."

She smiled and nodded. "What are you making? It smells delicious."

"Chicken soup, miss. It's a remedy for Master Damien. He's been unwell—this always made Master Bruce feel better when ill as a boy."

Diana nodded. She felt sympathy for the spoiled, mean-spirited boy upstairs, despite the harshness and antagonism he treated her with most of the time. No one deserved to be ill, especially children. No matter the child. "Will there be any left?" she asked with a slightly mischievous smirk.

"Of course. Though you may have to earn your dinner, miss, if you would not mind doing me a favour?"

"Anything."

"Master Damien has locked the door to his bedroom. I'm sure Master Bruce could pick the lock, but as he's going out soon…"

"You want me to take the soup to Damien. No problem."

She crossed the kitchen and opened the fridge, pouring out a glass of orange juice and setting it on the tray alongside the large bowls of chicken soup and eucalyptus water Alfred had already placed there. As she got to the kitchen door, Alfred spoke again.

"And Miss Diana? Good luck."

She chuckled ruefully; she would probably need it. Balancing the tray carefully, she made her way up the stairs and then knocked on the door of Damien's room.

"Go away, Pennyworth."

"It's not Alfred, Damien."

"Then go away, _Princess_." The sneer on the last word failed a little through the thick voice in which it was delivered. A blocked nose tended to take the poison out of most bad manners.

"I'm just bringing you something to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"It's chicken soup."

"It could be caviar from the virgin shores of the Caspian Sea, I am _not _hungry, woman!"

She sighed and dropped the politeness. Time to fight fire with fire. "Damien, either open the door or I will open it."

No reply, and no movement from inside. Diana grasped the doorhandle and turned it gently. The lock broke with a crunch, and the door swung open quietly. Damien was in the middle of a leap toward her, fist raised. She caught it with no effort, then set the tray down on the desk.

"How _dare _you enter without my permission!"

"I warned you," she said mildly, catching his right foot when it came up to punch her in the midriff. Now basically holding him in the air by one arm and one leg, she threw him toward the bed. The mattress absorbed the impact easily as the ten year old bounced. He got up immediately, but had to halt when a sneeze exploded from his mouth.

Diana took the opportunity to throw her Lasso around him. "Are you sick?"

"N— Ow! Yes, yes!"

"Are you hungry?"

"…yes," he said sullenly.

"Is continuing this farce going to achieve anything except the expenditure of valuable energy which you need to get well?"

"No."

She took it off him. "Well then. Get back into bed before I have to force-feed you the chicken soup which _Alfred _spent so much time making from scratch."

They locked gazes for a moment, wills battling silently. Diana was in no doubt whatsoever about who was going to win. Damien did not cease glaring at her as he sat down on the bed. Unfortunately for him, he had not inherited his father's glaring ability; it didn't phase her in the slightest. _Not that Bruce does either of course…_

"With the covers over you," she stipulated.

"Now you go too far."

"You need to keep warm. I can see you shivering from here," she said flatly.

He didn't move, only crossed his arms and looked stubbornly out of the window, apparently attempting to stare down the curtains if he couldn't stare down Diana. She put the tray on his nightstand and did it for him, then sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Chicken soup—it's full of vegetables which you need for their mineral and vitamin contents, and the chicken is protein which will boost your immune system. The orange juice will—"

"—enable my body to absorb as much iron possible because of the amount of vitamin C it contains," he finished nastily. "Spinach contains _far _more vitamin C than orange juice, as any fool would know."

"And watercress even more," Diana responded calmly. "Which is why Alfred put both in the soup."

"Humph."

"The other bowl contains eucalyptus leaves steeped in hot water. The vapours will help to clear your sinuses."

"There's nothing wrong with my sinuses," he said petulantly. "If it weren't for Pennyworth's foolish interference I would be out patrolling with my father."

"Of course." She stood. "I'm not going to spoon-feed you like a baby; I trust you'll eat everything. Goodnight, Damien."

No reply, but he didn't wait until she'd left the room before he picked up the spoon and began eating. Diana had long become accustomed to reading diplomatically-blank faces, and there was a definite spasm of delight that crossed the young Robin's face.

"You may thank Pennyworth for me," he said dismissively.

"Thank who, I'm sorry?"

"…_Alfred_. Thank- Thank Alfred."

"Thank Alfred what?"

He glared again. "Thank Alfred, _please_."

Diana smiled beatifically and closed the door. "Get well soon, Damien."

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**A/N: Review please!**


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